These Night Skies, They Want us to Rest
by Fluffy Cookies
Summary: In which Tifa's glad that her friends get to rest from fighting on the battlefield, Lightning needs help resting, and Tifa helps her do just that.


_These Night Skies, They Want us to Rest_

When sunset comes to embrace Sanctuary with its all-seeing, bronze skies, Tifa Lockhart finds herself entranced and unblinking. Nightfall is a newborn, warm thing, and it's something she doesn't want to let go of so soon.

When she pries her eyes away from the amber-violet display above her, she remembers that there's a lot of laughter, too. It's another soft and delicate occurrence that she gladly welcomes with an irresistible smile. This is a day where her friends get to relax and rest from all the fighting, from all the near-death experiences they've had beyond Sanctuary's borders, and she won't let it go to waste for herself or anyone else.

They're all in Sanctuary's gardens, or rather, she _believes_ all of them are. Ropes of warm wind twist and coil her hair into chaotic patterns. They manipulate her short nightgown, etching the alien dialect of breezes in the white, unruly fabric. Scuffing one of her slippers against pastel cobblestones, Tifa can't help but exhale in gratitude that they're all _still alive_ ; all safe and sound.

But— _there's always gotta be a 'but', ugh_ —something inside her mind nags her about a missing puzzle piece, a missing person. So she starts looking around the gardens for a certain someone.

Bartz and Zidane are definitely present, playing their own variant of tag or something in the distance— _they're gonna mess up this place in record time_ , Tifa finds herself believing—and there are multicolored petals dancing around them. As she expects to see, Squall's keeping an eye on them, leaning against some marble pillar. He's stripped of that weird leather jacket of his for the evening, and Tifa finds herself wondering what exactly keeps the three of them bound together, inseparable and knotted so well.

The more she looks at them from afar, the more she realizes that there's a soft grin yanking at her mouth's edges. _They're like brothers_ , she thinks.

It's then that she remembers why she was staring at them at all. _Shoot; focus, Tifa._

 _Right._ See if there's anyone missing. With that down, she slides her eyes to the orchid garden some paces to her side. With a tightening chest, she prays that she doesn't look too nosy. Surprisingly enough, Kain is _actually_ there— _well, he's_ ** _still_** _moping,_ Tifa thinks—and he's sitting on a wooden bench and keeping that cryptic, _helmet-less_ face of his glued to the pages of some book. His ash blonde hair submits to the wind's grip and flies sideways in curly, coarse strands. Against the backdrop of green, intrusive bushes and rosy orchids, he looks to be at peace.

As much as Tifa wants to see him willingly talk, she refocuses. _He's here tonight; That's good enough._

Bit by bit, as jovial loud noises come and go, she narrows down the list. Laguna and Vaan are there, dressed in slacks for the evening, and they're babying Onion near some oversized fountain with a replica of Cosmos. And when Tifa hears Laguna say something along the lines of _'Uncle Laguna's gonna be here all night'_ , one of her eyebrows hops up while she barely holds in a quick, guilty snort.

 _Think before you talk next time, oh gosh..._

On the other side of the magnificent, porcelain fountain, Yuna's perched on the glossy rim of it, and her radiant robe bears colors similar to those of her traditional kimono. There's something beautiful and otherworldly in the simple way that she just looks at the winking constellations in the darkening sky, how it just lights up a smile on her face. It's a fragile little thing Tifa hopes won't be broken by tomorrow, by the malicious whims of the future.

There's a quick roaring laughter that takes even the breezes by surprise, dry and jolly, and it lures Tifa's gaze to whoever's behind her. She realizes it's Jecht before she even finishes looking over her shoulder. Cecil is talking with him about something she can't hear, and he's wearing a lavender doublet for the occasion. Tifa spares them a little smile even if she knows they won't see it and continues taking in the beauty of this all— _and, right, making sure no one's missing,_ she reminds herself again.

The knight in shining armor guy is there as well, still clothed in that ridiculous getup of his. He's stone-faced and leaning on a column, and for a second, Tifa almost swears he's some other ornate statue, lifeless and stiff. He's standing by the brilliant, spark-spitting fire of a nearby torch. From reading his shadowed eyes, Tifa sees that he looks calm, somewhat lost in his mind, a little lonely.

Rubbing her arm, she concludes that she feels sorry for him as she sets her eyes on Firion's moving figure. It's a bed of roses he approaches, and even if she's several feet away, Tifa can't stop herself from exhaling in awe. The folds of each ruby petal have an air of flawlessness around them. When Firion brushes a caring thumb across one, an epiphany begins to unfurl in her head, stealing away the weightless feeling that gripped her moments before.

 _Oh, right. Rose petals. Lightning. I think she's the only one I haven't seen._

In one smooth movement, Tifa swivels around and scans the area for a familiar, pink mane. None of the gardens should be too tall to cut off her view from anyone, and she swears she'd be considered _blind_ if she were to mistake that girl's hair for a _big flower._ It feels a bit like a punch to the gut when awareness dawns on her. She saunters around, circles the huge fountain, sees all the places she feels she hasn't quite seen thoroughly.

Lightning's not here, she finally confirms. Probably sulking in her lonesome again.

Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Tifa makes sure to grab two golden goblets of wine from a nearby table before she begins her search.

* * *

Tifa knocks away on Lightning's door, and before silence can take the stage again, there's the odd twist and sounds of a creaking doorknob as the door moves. Irritated, worn eyes flit to Tifa's as Lightning peeks from the opening, and a newfound softness settles in them when she sees it's her.

"Hey, Light. Wanna drink?"

Trust slowly softens Lightning's blunt features while the ghost of a knowing smirk tightens her lips. Salmon needles of hair are angled more to the side than usual, and Tifa also catches the lack of Lightning's typical, rigid aura, the one that makes her look poised and professional. Instead of resting a palm on an inclining hip, she's slouching and pushing her weight against the door. Tifa likes it while it unbalances her at the same time. When it comes to stubborn people like Lightning acting differently from the norm, she gets a spinning feeling in her insides that something's up; that something's a little off.

Finally, Lightning glances at the contents of the goblets. Tifa allows herself a smile when she sees her forming a bond with the wine, almost like it's calling her name.

"It better be good." Despite her choice of words, Tifa's able to easily snatch away the acceptance that's subtle in her voice.

Gracefully, the door opens up a different world to Tifa. Beige walls enclose them in a place where the scent of cinnamon frolics in her nostrils as she walks in. Lightning plops her rear on the silky, red sheets of her bed, and Tifa follows suit under a split second's notice. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that while Lightning is stripped of her overcoat and boots for tonight, her folded gun is resting on her nightstand, limp and waiting to be uncurled. It's then that Tifa sees the bulky frame of a wide window that confirms their height in Sanctuary's tower. Minuscule mountaintops and ashy sands are the slaves that make up the display, and it doesn't take Tifa that long to click the pieces together, why Lightning decided to stay inside this evening.

 _Jeez, she's always keeping watch..._

Setting her eyes back on Lightning, Tifa's firm fingers steadily deliver the prize to her, and the firm wrench she sees in Lightning's lips makes her well aware that she hasn't tasted any liquor in ages. Feeling Lightning's freezing hands fasten themselves around the dazzling goblet, Tifa shivers a bit at the sudden touch and lets go of it.

Rocking the scarlet liquid back and forth inside her own cup and eyeing it, Tifa decides to begin the conversation.

"Everyone's in the gardens, you know?" Tifa starts, sniffing over the cup's edge. There's something magical in it that makes it smell just right. The whiff of strong cranberries, a dash of sweet plums, and the pinch of fresh cherries soon become an immense force that overtakes her nostrils. "Even _Kain's_ there. And there's more wine down there too, in case you were wondering. Doesn't hurt to go out there."

While she's awaiting a swift retort, Tifa notices that Lightning's busy downing her wine. As she's doing so, Tifa decides to take in the atmosphere and get used to it. She'll be here for a while, after all. Taking a sip from her cup, bitterness wiggles on her tongue and leaves her mouth feeling leathery.

One of her eyebrows skips upward when her attention lingers on their surroundings. This room is organized and it smells like heaven. Tifa likes everything about it. It cradles her with this homey feeling and it's practical. The sweet cinnamon scent arises from swirl-patterned candles, and their delicate flames exhale smoky tendrils of warmth and tranquility. Pastel books are stacked in perfect columns on the dresser across from her, and the sheets beneath her feel perfect.

A sharp intake of air beside her whips Tifa's focus back onto Lightning. "It wouldn't hurt, huh? Yeah, right. Because I totally want some monkey boy squeezing my ass every few seconds."

"Light, you know he doesn't do it _that much._ He's actually playing with Bartz right now, and he hasn't done anything like that with me or Yuna today."

Lightning snorts. "Are they playing _Twister_? Tying themselves up and getting stuck?"

Tifa tries to reel in a giggle, fails, and shakes her head. "Nope; it's tag. Anyways," Tifa pauses and cherishes the next swig of wine she takes, feels some stickiness conquer her taste buds. "You've got this _big_ window in your room. You were keeping watch all day, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Doesn't matter how 'safe' we are; this place is a war zone."

Tifa tenses at the harsher tone from Lightning. " _Come on_ , Light. Cosmos called it a resting day for a reason. Relax a little bit and don't worry so much."

Sharpness drowns some of Lightning's delicate expression and Tifa resists the urge to wince a little bit at that. "We could be dead meat if I do that."

" _Could_ be. Either way, Cosmos said—"

"Cosmos is just some goddess that threw us into this mess," Lightning glares at Tifa, untamed and hawk-eyed. "She doesn't give a damn about what happens to us."

Breathing in, Tifa feels a storm of feelings slice her stomach. "Is it really a mess, Light? I mean, sure, we've gotta fight and make sure nothing _kills_ us, but we got to meet each other at least, right? It's not a _total_ mess, really."

Seeing Lightning's features unclench in thought, Tifa's stiff joints relax as she finishes her drink and sets it on the floor. Coincidentally, Lightning finishes her wine right after and sits the cup on her bedside.

Aimlessly, Lightning lets out a meek sigh. Her voice is less dominant and at its frailest. "No, I guess not."

Her response makes Tifa's heart do somersaults. Usually, Lightning takes a lot more convincing than that to even consider another perspective on something. But as Tifa takes the time to glance at her cobalt, dry eyes, the slight, sad hunch that's bearing down on her form, and at how she doesn't have her legs crossed for once when she's sitting down, it only takes moments for the cruel realization to smash Tifa in the gut and pull her lips into a faint frown.

Tifa finally gets a firm grasp on a reply that fits right in her mouth. "I know you're worried about our safety, and that's what keeps you staying up and staying alert for us, but you're gonna find yourself even more sleepy-eyed and exhausted, and then what'll _you_ do? You'll be too tired and then _we'll_ be the ones worried sick over you."

When she confirms that Lightning decides against responding to let her head droop limply, Tifa stares out at nothing in particular, lets herself look off. She doesn't want to unintentionally pressure Lightning with prying eyes that reach for too much at once.

"Don't you just want to take a break? Unwind a bit? I'm not saying you have to go out there, either. And sleeping's not the only way to rest, too. Maybe you could just... relax and have fun. Ease up a bit, you know?"

Out of the edge of her eye, she sees Lightning's lips curl into a smirk when she turns to face her. "You're good at this, Lockhart."

One of the edges on Tifa's lips stretches higher, crafting a small smile. "And you're tired. Relax first, responsibility later. 'Cause odds are, you won't be able to keep us all safe if you're drained and not in your best mood."

As fast as it appeared, Lightning's smirk is whisked away by a newfound epiphany. Doubt laces her tightening face and she looks at her gunblade, still perched on the nightstand with her goblet. "Dammit, you're right. But it feels like there's just _more_ to it if that makes sense."

Tifa scoots in a little closer. "Your feelings?"

In her vision, Lightning hunches her shoulders a bit, back still facing her, and releases a fast sigh, something that looks painful and vulnerable to Tifa. In a way, it's like trying to pry open a sealed book, trying to flip straight to the right chapter to see the truth...

"Yeah, they hurt," Tifa says, rubbing her arm. Her frigid fingers are nothing compared to the superior temperature of the candles in the distance. "I know how it feels, being worried sick over everyone's safety, Light. Wanting to keep things as they are, not wanting to lose control over it all. But sometimes, you have to live with sudden changes. They're gonna hurt. And the best way to prevent any of those sudden changes as soon as possible is by keeping yourself upright and strong right now."

Lightning snorts, but it's not natural and has this strained nature that Tifa detects on instinct. "I just don't... I'm just..."

Tifa's lured in by this rare show of hesitance, the growing vulnerability, and she takes compassion's fragile, nice-feeling hand and lets it guide her fingers to Lightning's soft form. And while she predicts that her hand will be pulsing and be hurting like there's no tomorrow with a single slap of rejection, the strike just never comes. So it just persists, stays there on Lightning's stilled back. It's what gets Lightning to look at her again, and her distant eyes are longing, worn out from the past's leftover scars.

They're so bruised that Tifa can see the lonely soul in them so perfectly, so vividly, that the next words aren't a challenge to think up for her.

"You're sad too, right?"

Silence coils them in a nerve-wracking embrace, but Lightning doesn't let it last for too long.

"I mean..." She pauses and processes the concept before she comes to a conclusion. "Yeah, maybe that's the feeling."

Tifa pats her tender back a bit. She gets why she's so hesitant about revealing this, really. That when you're a soldier in a ruthless world like this and packed with responsibilities, there's not as much time to cope, not enough time to reflect, not enough time to comprehend what it is you're feeling, who you really are...

With an air of finality, Lightning exhales and lets out a sharp laugh. "I'm not good at this stuff."

Tifa breathes, and as her chest loosens itself from the weight that ruled it before, she draws her hand from Lightning back to her lap. "It's fine. Some people just don't get emotions as well as others. _Now,_ about that rest..."

Lightning gazes at the all-knowing window to their side. "Yeah, I'll run out of steam if I keep this up. _Maybe_ it won't hurt to go outside."

Tifa grins, slips Lightning's gloved, limp hand in her own. "Let's go, then. Just make sure you get plenty of shut-eye afterward."

The faint smile Tifa receives is one of great gratitude, of undeniable warmth. Lightning's azure eyes are renewed and thriving again, and she's sitting up again like the usual Lightning would do. And as Tifa Lockhart begins to pull on Lightning's once solitary self, there's this familiar warmth that tangles its fingers in her rising heartstrings, this precious feeling that makes her grateful that this flawless night didn't go to waste for Lightning.


End file.
